


Prompted

by Mogseltof



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce, Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, CoM is crossover, Compilation, Everything else is homestuck, Face Sitting, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humanstuck, I'm sorry these aren't very specific, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post Game, Trans Character, proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of one shots cross posted from my tumblr. Some are nsfw, some are not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complications (Mitkri, porn)

**Author's Note:**

> There is really no logical rhyme or reason to this. Most of these are cross posted from tumblr (mogseltof.tumblr.com/tagged/mogseltof-writes), though there's some there that aren't going here. Feel free to either request/prompt something in comments or jump ship to my blog to do so there.

As far as days go, Kankri considered, shading his eyes to look at the sun, this could be considered normal as far as the game went. It was disconcerting, still, to be able even to look at the sun, let alone considering the facts of the rest of the matter of the universe.

For instance, the discontinued existence of Beforus.

Kankri ignored the crawl that went up his spine, and sheathed his strife specibus. Time enough to worry about that later - their Heir needed a Seer’s touch, and, well, he was the Seer and Mituna was their Heir. He could worry about their Bloody Doom later, after all. Much later.

The transportalizer dumped him on a dark, dank planet, with very little moving around him, and Kankri had his strife specibus out and armed within an instant. In all honesty, when he looked back, there was nothing he could have done to prepare himself for the eternal shock of Mituna dropping upon him from a dead tree, but that didn’t stop the slew of slurs from leaving Kankri’s startled mouth.

Mituna cackled, holding Kankri up with his psiionics, the hoverboard easily dodging between the tree branches clawing at the sky like many-fingered hands, and the very same powers dashed countless winged bugs with enormous pincers down. Grist rained down on the ground below them, flashes of red and blue scooping them up while Kankri desperately tried to regain his breath. They eventually landed at what had obviously been Mituna’s hive, now a mess of stairs and scattered machinery.

“Aranea,” Mituna said with a shrug, when Kankri started counting under his breath the patterns in the repeating stair cases. Mituna ignored his colouring - or appeared to, under the wrap around glasses who could tell - and continued on blithely. “Crazy bitch wif her fing thor eights, but she got me frough the gate. Sorry, g- _eight_!”

“Don’t call her that,” Kankri said hotly, trying to quell the heat he knew was still in his cheeks. “Her compulsion that draws her to certain figures is involuntary, and she-“

“Is a huge bitch, which isn’t,” Mituna said, making a yapping motion with his hands. “Ditch it KK, she’s an enormous nerdbag who’ll thuck you up thor speaking thor her.”

“I thought you were working on your lisp,” Kankri said, a little coldly, regretting the words the instant they left his lips. He’d only been looking for some way to shut Mituna up, but still, surely there could have been a better path for him to go down.

It worked, though, and Mituna abandoned the topic of Aranea in a heartbeat. Kankri was not expecting him to smile quite so widely, though. “I was wondering ith you still had some teef letht,” Mituna said with a snigger, seeming to enunciate as loudly as possible on the words he was tripping over.

“My dental hygiene notwithstanding,” Kankri said frostily, leaning back a little as Mituna stepped closer, still grinning eerily, “I hardly see how baiting me by insulting our teammate is in any way, shape, or form, contributing to the reason as to why I am here in the first place.”

Mituna picked his glasses off his face, and they disappeared into his sylladex, but his glowing eyes didn’t offer any insight into his expression anymore than the panes of glass had. “I dunno,” he said, taking a final step, right into Kankri’s personal bubble like he belonged there, “maybe I just wanna check your dental hygiene.”

Kankri opened his mouth, partly to utter his disgust at Mituna’s levity, partly to issue a gusty sigh, but had the chance to do neither as his mouth was too full of Mituna’s tongue. Kankri tried to start backwards, but came up against a solid tree trunk, Mituna’s hand at his waist, and realised that he’d been manoeuvred into the position - and it didn’t matter how simply or clumsily Mituna had gone about it, because it had worked.

Kankri shoved Mituna backwards, and Mituna rocked back on his heels, hooting with laughter, one hand still tugging at Kankri’s waist. “Not even a bite?” he said, tilting his head and poking out his tongue, as if the mocking tone wasn’t enough.

His cheeks were burning red, Kankri could tell, and he clenched his fists at his side, trying not to physically hit Mituna again. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

Mituna’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline, as far as Kankri could tell under the floppy fringe. “Kissing you. Dumbthuck,” he said, sounding annoyed, and he leant in to do it again.

Kankri ducked, kicking out at an ankle and slipping under Mituna’s arm, twisting the wrist attached to his sweater around in what looked to be an exceedingly painful manner. “Don’t you have Latula for this nonsense?” he asked, not a little bitterly over Mituna’s pained swearing.

One tug at the sweater and Kankri was yanked back, tripping over an outstretched leg, and both of them hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. “Does fis theel red to you, asshole?” Mituna hissed in Kankri’s ear, before biting down on it. Kankri yelped pathetically and flailed around, his sweater riding up halfway up his midsection, while one of his feet connected with Mituna’s knee.

Mituna swore again and rolled them, relinquishing his grasp on Kankri’s sweater only to shove it further up and hook his claws into the skin he eventually found underneath. Kankri shuddered, Mituna’s weight omnipresent on top of him, and leaned in with his head to bite at the small strip of neck available to him, making Mituna twitch.

Catching Kankri’s hand, Mituna pressed Kankri’s thumb backwards towards the wrist until Kankri was biting back tears. “I said, does fis theel red?” he repeated, his breathing uneven with a small amount of pant.

“No,” Kankri said, after a moments hesitation, and Mituna leant in to bite at his lips. This time, Kankri shut his eyes and bit back.

They rolled around on the floor for a while, scrabbling at each others clothes and biting at available patches of skin - Mituna landed an inch long scratch with two claws, three bites down Kankri’s forearm , and an already swelling bruise on the back of Kankri’s thigh, while Kankri managed to tear at Mituna’s hair, bloody his nose and bite hard around a finger.

There was a brief separation, a quick gasp of fresh air, before they got up and stepped back into each others’ space, this time actually aiming for the efficient removal of clothes. Kankri’s sweater was easy enough to remove, despite Mituna’s sniggering at the pants, but the bodysuit Mituna favoured was an entirely different matter. Kankri snarled and gave up, instead yanking it down to Mituna’s waist and dragging a claw clumsily through an arm to give Mituna some range.

“Shithead,” Mituna said, using his own, sharper claws to much more effectively shred down the top of Kankri’s pants.

“Demeaning my intelligence won’t make yours any stronger,” Kankri said sharply, his hands hovering. What in the name of all twelve planets and the moons of Skaia was he supposed to do next?

Fortunately (or unfortunately, he hadn’t quite made up his mind), Mituna took that problem out of Kankri’s hands and, quite literally, into his own. His hands pushed roughly down until Kankri’s pants were around the top of his thighs, his bulge clearly out and visible. Mituna guffawed, cut off when Kankri’s ankle scythed into his legs, his grip on Kankri tumbling them both back down to the ground.

Mituna’s fingers were cool and tight around his bulge, and Kankri squirmed, his own fingers digging into Mituna’s torso. He brought a leg up sharply, hoping to dislodge Mituna’s fingers and secure a grasp of his own, but succeeded only in wedging his knee firmly up against Mituna’s crotch.

When Mituna gasped and ground down against him, though, Kankri counted it as a mark in his own column. Kankri wiggled, then clumsily flipped them, pressing down against Mituna and tentatively rubbing his thigh up against Mituna’s crotch.  Mituna’s fingers faltered for a second against Kankri’s bulge, but his hips surged up to grind more steadily against Kankri’s knee, and his fingers started up again, not quite steady, but enough to make Kankri’s knees buckle.

A mistake, considering it put him with biting range of Mituna’s mouth. Mituna’s teeth latched onto his neck, just below the junction of his ear and jaw at the same time as his fingers tightened on Kankri’s bulge, and with a yelp, Kankri came, a mess of bright red genetic fluid all over Mituna’s lap.

“HAH! I win- _uh_!” Mituna’s voice squeaked upwards as Kankri tried to cut him off, mercilessly increasing his pressure on Mituna’s crotch, where he could feel the damp, thrashing of the bulge trapped underneath two layers of fabric. Mituna gasped, his spine arching up slightly, his mouth open but with no sound coming out, and when Kankri looked down, the black of their pants had a distinctive, yellow tint.

“You were saying?” he asked, breathlessly, sitting back a little and blinking. Mituna flipped him off, lying back down on the ground with a thud.  


	2. You Mock My Pain (Davekat, kinda, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YES HELLO I HEARD U WERE TAKING FIC PROMPTS. WHAT ABOUT DAVEKAT WHERE KARKAT IS AN AUTHOR AND HAS TERRIBLE WRITERS BLOCK SO DAVE HELPS CLEAR HIS HEAD ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (either fluffy or smutty or ridiculous there r only 3 directions this can go in and I'm pumped for ALL OF THEM) - anon

There was a scream of frustration from the next room, and you barely had time to look up in surprise before the door slammed open and a pissed off looking Karkat stormed in and sat on you, disrupting your laptop and ripping your headphones out.

"Dude," you said, trying to fake a cool, unimpressed demeanour. "Beyond not cool. Well uncool. So uncool you left freezing behind ten miles back and are now rapidly approaching the isle of uncomfortably warm. Seriously your bike tyres are about to start melting to the pavement shit’s that uncool."

"Shut up and give me affection," Karkat said grumpily, working his hands underneath your shirt to lace his fingers at the small of your back in a low embrace. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, his breath slowing from rapid to evenly paced.

"O-kay," you said, drawing the syllables out and resting your hands on the back of his neck gently. "What’s up buttercup?"

"I can tell you what’s _not_ up,” Karkat said, his tone biting. “What’s _not_ up is my fucking wordcount, my goddamn writing ability, and my shitheel of a brain! My motherfucking, cocksucking, shitter of a deadline is _up_ next week though. I can’t write a thing.”

He fell uncharacteristically silent, breathing raggedly into your neck, and you hauled him into a proper hug. “Babe,” you said, trying your very awkward best to be sympathetic and, uh, there, you supposed.

Karkat snorted, then hummed into your neck, seemingly content to sit and bask in your combined warmth, and you carefully stroked up and down his back, until he grumbled another complaint and pulled back, shoving at your torso and muttering about plotholes.


	3. This One Has Circle of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Tortall or Circle of Magic)/Homestuck crossover - anon
> 
> Sandry, Daja, Briar, Tris, Niko & Berenine play a computer game.

Staffkind was really the only sensible strife specibus of the four of them, Daja decided crossly, knocking Briar on his feet. Knifekind was all well and good until your opponent had a slightly longer weapon, she didn’t like what she’d heard about needlekind, and none of them even _knew_ what Tris’ weapon of choice was. Probably something with a lot of pointy edges. Or a book.

Sandry darted past on a whirlwind of silks, somehow bright and gleaming despite the mess of blacks, the barest hint of white on her chest, with her Maid’s coat whipping past her ankles. Briar yelped and rolled, knives appearing in his fists again as her needles darted down and pinned his grey snood to the ground. “I’m not a game bogey!” he blustered, rolling lightly to his feet. “Stop trying to pin me like one!”

Tris landed daintily next to them, her bright blue snood pulled down low over her eyes. “Get better at strifing then,” she said grimly. “There’s much bigger coming up than ‘game bogeys’, and this time it won’t be just outlying planets that get destroyed if we fail.”

Daja itched at the red mask around her eyes, mildly uncomfortable. “Any news on the Black Queen, then?”

Tris ignored her, presumably still in a snit over their last argument, and addressed Sandry instead. “Your cousin is a real piece of work, you know that right?”

"Coming from her you might want to pay attention," Briar said sourly, running his fingers over the bruise on his arm and watching in mild fascination as it disappeared underneath the eerie blue glow. "Although we haven’t seen Nico face to face either, are we sure we can trust him? Maybe he and Berenine are in on this together?"

"You’re just sour because Berenine took you for a ride," Daja said, leaning on her staff. "Nico’s the only reason we’ve survived this long in the session."

"I didn’t want to play with her," Sandry pointed out, crossing her arms and sticking her nose up into the air. "But she was the only one except for our Guardians - and I don’t know about you guys, but Pasco thought the game sounded stupid."

"Ben thought I should broaden my horizons," Daja offered quietly, looking at her hands clasped around her staff. "I didn’t really want to play with him."

"Anyway," Sandry said hastily, mouthing apologetically at Daja, "We better hope Nico’s on our side - it’s bad enough we have to take down an actual Lord!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Nico is a Mage of Hope, Berenine a Lord of Heart, Sandry a Maid of Space, Briar a Sylph of Life, Tris a Seer of Breath (she’s still working out the kinks, the inversion to Witch of Blood was much easier for her) and Daja a Rogue of Time. Their guardians respectively are Doctor Bridge (Sylph of Light), Quenaill (Mage of Blood), Pasco (Witch of Doom), Evvy (Page of Rage), Keth (Seer of Hope) and Bennat (Prince of Life).
> 
> (I know some of these have incorrect gender assignations shush idec) The teachers are their sprites!! Nico doesn’t talk about his sprite, no one’s seen it, Ishabel is an elderly tarantula Berenine lovingly raised, Lark is a bird who smashed into Sandry’s window trying to get at her loom while she was prototyping, Rosethorn is a one eyed cat Evvy killed by accident (Briar is seriously upset by this, and the fact that he never got the chance to make up for the argument before she died in their session), Frostpine is a salamander Daja was looking after for a class project.
> 
> I would write more but then it starts getting plotty. For reference this session is a post scratch one 0u0 The pre scratch players have vague memories (with the exception of Doctor Bridge, who remembers in entirety, and Evvy who was the only other God Tier but who still can’t remember properly due to Other Reasons.)
> 
> (I have already started writing this properly I don't know if it'll ever get posted though)


	4. "Dave Does a Vegas" (Davekat, mostly SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davekat au were dave is kat's stepdad - anon
> 
> or in which I completely tangent someone's kink because I got an idea and couldn't stop laughing. Vague allusions to incest and minor panic about drunk consent (it's all fine though).

Dave was mostly aware of the headache and residual nausea before he was entirely awake. It would have been nice for the room to stop spinning, but unfortunately it felt like his inner ear was still scrambled. If he scrunched up his brain - _nng_ , more like _poached_ brain oh fuck things were hurting that were not supposed to hurt - he could remember someone bringing out the body shots, but that was where he lost track. “Hey, DUNDERFUCKHEAD!” someone yelled in his ear suddenly, and Dave whimpered, flailing out from under his sheet.

Oh. The wedding veil would require explanation from someone at some point. What the shit?

He looked up into the pissed off face of his boyfriend. Matesprit. Kismesis? Definitely one of the concupisces - oh fuck no, now he was thinking about sex with Meenah, oh _hell_ no shark teeth away -

Karkat yanked the veil away from Dave’s face, and Dave hissed, recoiling from the unholy bright light of the sun. “Oh what the shit dude, unnecessarily uncool, are you hiding my shades or something?”

"No," Karkat said coolly, the very picture of unsympathetic pissiness as he folded his arms over his chest, the Mona Lisa of expressionless ‘ticked off’. "My dad’s wearing them."

"What?" Dave said, squinting up blearily.

Karkat rolled his eyes and reached out, prodding a protesting Dave to roll over, where he came nose to nose with a Spades Slick in the only safe way to experience Spades Slick in the wild. Asleep, and totally unaware. Also wearing a crumpled tux and Dave’s shades, though the wide brimmed fedora was positioned carefully on the bedside table.

Dave carefully rolled back and slithered onto the floor, trying to ignore the fact that he was wearing a full, sequined wedding dress complete with multiple petticoats, tulle, and a trail that had been torn part way off and was tangled somewhere around his thigh. He looked up at Karkat. “Dude what the fuck?”

"Hey, new Daddy," Karkat deadpanned. "Make me breakfast."

Karkat made him keep the wedding dress on while he made them toast with the last dregs of peanut butter, before cracking and explaining. “No of course you didn’t actually sleep with him, you’d be dead if you slept with him, you fucking moronic twithead of a human dumbass!”

"But it was a legal wedding?" Dave asked, for the third time, toast halfway to his mouth.

"Well once you got the donkey into the chapel I couldn’t actually figure out a way to stop you from going through with it. Neither of you are allowed tequila ever again, I hope you know that. My Dad gave his favourite goddamn knife as a ‘courting gift’." Karkat said sourly.

"…Legally binding?" Dave said again, horrified.

"You actually held the certificate up to your mouth and called it a ‘literal embodiment of a metaphor’ before you tried to smoke it," Karkat said. "You pan fried, drunk addled, duck fucking, screwed up, imbecilic, _dipshit_.”

"…I’m going to need cuddles. I can’t afford a divorce," Dave said gloomily.

"Oh hell no," Karkat said primly. "I will do my best to respect your cultural boundaries. Our relationship is now null and void due to your human taboo on incest."

Dave gave up on the toast and threw it at Karkat’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not kidding sincere apologies to whoever requested this


	5. Stitch 'N' Bitch (PorKri, NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PorKri facesitting, written after a conversation with tumblr user black-quadrant, who sucks.

“Yes, but lets be honest here, Aranea just likes the sound of her own voice,” Porrim said briskly, snapping the yarn at the end of the row and picking up the new colour. “For her it’s not so much about content as it is about reaction.”

Kankri looked up from his slightly too tight stitches. “Of course it is - speaking for her isn’t anything to do with what she’s actually saying, it’s what she can make the other person think she means.”

“Didn’t I just say that?” Porrim asked with a small smirk, glancing up at him. “Lighten up on your loop throughs, darling, you’ll never get your needles through those and you’re making your scarf uneven.”

“Yes, Porrim,” Kankri said absently, tugging on the wool. “Has Meenah managed to confront her yet? Or has Aranea just blustered her way out of any direct conversation?”

Porrim snorted, flipping her hair over one shoulder and changing stitch. Kankri watched her fingers enviously. “Oh please, that would require Meenah to first notice something right under her nose, and the day that happens Horuss will get over Rufioh and Damara will stop propositioning people.”

Kankri snorted, and dropped a stitch. “Oh fuck,” he said, trying to pick it out again.

Porrim sighed and got up, coming over to sit next to him. “Here, dear,” she said absently, picking up the entire mess out of his hands and undoing the previous two rows, and neatly sliding the needles into place so he could start over.

Kankri sighed. “It took me all evening to get that far, Porrim,” he said glumly.

Porrim grinned and poked his head. “I know. I also know you dropped three more that you didn’t notice, but I’ll let you get away with those, I suppose.”

“Yes, you are the worst teacher,” Kankri teased, pulling the first stitch over the top of the needle.

Porrim tutted and leaned into him, placing her hands over his. “Ease up, I swear you are as tight in this are you are in everything else!”

“Oh?” Kankri asked, turning to face her, nose to nose as she leaned forward some more to reposition his hands.

“Yes,” Porrim said, “Pay attention, Kankri, you’ll only drop the stitch again.”

“I shan’t, not while I don’t know what you mean,” Kankri said, butting his head against her lightly. “As tight as I am in everything else?”

“I mean, you need to loosen up,” Porrim said, smacking his hand and pulling the wool all the way out to make a large loop. “You’re so… tightly strung.”

“I am not!” Kankri protested. “I just happen to care very much about things!”

Porrim laughed, pulling the knitting out of his hand and placing it on the table carefully. “Yes you are,” she said, shoving at him.

Kankri fell back onto the couch with an undignified squawk, laughing as Porrim clambered over him, straddling his waist and tickling at his torso. “I - huh - am not!” he yelped, grabbing her hands and tugging her down.

She gave out a startled laugh as she landed against him, her hair covering his face. Their giggles had them bumping up against each other, setting each other off again. Porrim propped herself up on her elbows over his face, nose to nose, eyes to eyes, smiling widely.

“I missed these,” Kankri said simply, and he leant up and kissed her. Porrim growled and nipped lightly at his lips, clenching her hands in the top of his sweater.

“ _Mine_ ,” she hissed as they broke away briefly, grasping for breath, and she tugged at the sweater she’d made him for emphasis, before growling again and leaning down.

“Of course,” Kankri said when she sat up, graceful and imperial above him, and she smiled, a single fang popping over her lip.

Kankri’s hands traced the tattoos up her thighs and under her skirt as she moved forward over his face, and he traced them back down to tug on her knees. She spread them obligingly, her skirt settling over his head like a tent, and he brought his hands up again to rest over her hips.

The first touch of his tongue to her nook had her sighing in happiness, and he leaned his head up to suckle gently at her, coaxing noises from her. He flicked his tongue to the base of her bulge, and her hips tensed under his hands. He used his tongue to lap at her bulge, pulling it down into her mouth, and she ground lightly into his face.

He smiled around her bulge and sucked hard.

It didn’t last long, Porrim coming hard and messily over his face shortly after he turned his attention to her bulge. She sighed happily, sliding down and licking it off his face, pushing a hand down his pants and jerking him off in languid motions.

It was a right mess, but none of it got on the knitting, and Porrim waved him off to the ablution block first, poking at his mangled scarf with a raised eyebrow.


	6. Mr Manners (Davekat, largely SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mageoftime answered: davekat, but canadian
> 
> somehow this actually manages to be the weirdest prompt I've ever received. Congratulations tumblr user mageoftime; you had some pretty stiff competition, negl.

Karkat presses him up a wall, Dave’s shades sliding down his nose a bit. The heating in the small store room is somewhat less than adequate, and the frost of Karkat’s breath hangs in the air just under his nose. “I don’t know how you were brought up, asshole,” Karkat growls into his ear, punctuating his phrasing with a sharp thrust of a knee between his legs and fuck, that’s hot -

Karkat’s mouth moves away from his neck, looking up at Dave with a stern expression. “But it is fucking polite to thank your customer service, and to take your fucking sunglasses off when you are indoors, and especially when you are talking to people you disrespectful dumbass!”

Karkat’s fingers duck abruptly into the waistband of Dave’s jeans and Dave jerks his head back. 3.. 2.. 1..

"What the -" Karkat pulls the lube out of Dave’s underwear and stares at it in disbelief. "MAPLE SYRUP FLAVOURED LUBE? SERIOUSLY? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"I tried to find one with a moose on the bottle," Dave chokes out, trying desperately not to laugh. "But apparently they don’t sell those."

"You are such an asshole," Karkat says, reaching up and pulling him down for a kiss.


	7. Little Things (DaveKat, ♦, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *requests pale Davekat with the power of a thousand suns and gives a thank you hug in advance* - anon

Karkat sits on top of you, face red, and you could swear that those are tear tracks running down his cheeks holy shit.

You magnanimously decide to ignore the fact that the asshole has basically just decided to use you as some kind of giant human beanbag, probably the skinniest most uncomfortable bean bag in all of paradox space but whatever, and focus on the fact that Karkat is not only upset he is apparently actually soliciting genuine affection from you. “Karbro?” you hazard, unsure of what to say.

Deep trauma is more Rose’s area of expertise. You and your Bro didn’t go much for the whole ‘sitting down and talking about feelings’ shtick, you went more for the beating the crap out of each other with swords kinda route.

Karkat flails and puts a hand over your mouth. Okay, ix-nay on the eaking-spay then. “Just, just, don’t. Say. A word,” Karkat says, sliding down to snuggle into you. “Just a full five minutes of quiet, comforting, hugging and then you can mock the fuck out of me.”

You nod your head slowly and wrap yourself around Karkat, wondering if this is the bit where you’re supposed to have the soft orchestral music playing in the background while you tenderly explain to Karkat that he is your best of bros and you would never mock him over something that upsets him like this. Jesus fuck, it was hard enough dealing with human romance now you have to figure out this weird best friend-y aspect of one of the four corners of troll romance?

And the only guide in question is banging your sister. Probably right now, gods damn alien stamina and human women’s multiple orgasms. You’re friend dating the other one.

The five minutes comes to an end, and you pull Karkat’s hand off your mouth as the second ticks over. “Okay you’re seriously starting to freak me out, bro -“

Karkat flushes an even brighter red and buries his head in your shoulder, mumbling something into your shirt.

"Didn’t quite catch that one, you’re going to have to repeat it oh Echo to my studly Narcissus."

Karkat punches you lightly, pulling just enough of his face out of your clothes to hear him speak. “Asshole. The main character in the book I’m reading just died and his moirail gave a really moving motivational speech.”

You of course, proceed to mock the fuck out of him. (And if you do so while providing slightly more of a hug than necessarily needed, neither of you mention it.)


	8. Summer Afternoons (Davekat, ♥, SFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written for tumblr user catsdraws with a minimal bit of background provided, based on this gorgeous drawing: http://catsdraws.tumblr.com/post/126418026572/its-in-the-stars-its-been-written-in-the-scars

There was a burn on Karkat’s shoulder, right where the strap of his binder sat. It was round and puckered, it’s smooth and shiny exterior belying how deep the initial wound must have been - it had been inflicted nearly ten years ago. “Cigarette burn,” Karkat had muttered with a grimace, by way of explanation.

It was a point made early on that they didn’t push at each other’s barriers there too much. Terezi was nosy, Rose was pushy, and _neither_ of them could really deal with Jade’s expression on the web cam when either of them rolled their sleeves too far up. So no pushing. They talked if they needed to, and navigated the carefully constructed boundaries between them with a practised - well, with practise.

The sun draped itself across Karkat’s sleeping face, highlighting the bags beneath his eyes and the complete lack of anything resembling a tan or freckles, and Dave wondered how much trouble he’d be in if he applied sunscreen to Karkat’s face while he slept.

It would be a lie for Dave to say he didn’t live for these afternoons sometimes. At this stage, Bro was taking three day trips every other week, leaving Dave alone to fend for himself with cold pizza and expired ramen. After the first time, Karkat had started bringing food with him, saying that if he had to watch Dave faint from hunger again then he may well have a heart attack and _then_ where would that leave either of them? He always brought apple juice though, so Dave didn’t make too many ‘Daddy’ jokes.

Today the fridge had broken, leaking everywhere, and they’d had to spend the day clearing food out before it rotted and finding towels to mop up as much as possible, because why the fuck would Bro buy an actual mop, what the _fuck_ even was a household chore, that sounded dangerous.

Karkat’s shirt and binder were draped over one of Dave’s photo lines by the open window, drying from where they’d had to hurriedly wash them. It was the first time he’d seen Karkat both topless and without his binder. It was a kind of naked trust that made both of them nervy to discuss.

Karkat had taken the offered loaner shirt, but hadn’t put it on right away, draping it over the back of the couch instead. Dave hadn’t even noticed at first, squinting at his computer screen with his shades pushed up, until he had a lapful of boyfriend. Dave started, surprised, and Karkat nosed his face into the side of Dave’s neck. His skin was still cool and damp from the shower, even through Dave’s shirt, and his hair tickled against Dave’s skin. The apartment was still warm in the mid afternoon heat, and Karkat was nicely cool against him. Karkat tilted his head up, and Dave ducked to kiss him almost lazily, his hands resting around Karkat’s waist like usual, though this time without the layers of sweater and shirt and binder, and it was nice.

Karkat kissed him once more, then ducked his head. Dave caught the flash of a smile though, and he watched Karkat cross the room. Karkat made a face at him briefly, and Dave smiled as Karkat yanked the shirt over his head. Karkat came back over and hugged him loosely around the neck, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“What are you working on?” he asked, and Dave tilted back to look up at him.

“Can’t get the levels right,” Dave said, and he leaned up to press a kiss to Karkat’s chin. “You gonna take that nap?”

Karkat nodded and lifted the shades off of Dave’s forehead, pressing a kiss to his hair line. “Yeah. Show me when you get it right?”

Dave nodded in return, and Karkat kissed him again before letting go, shoving the sleeves of the borrowed shirt up past his elbow, and he flopped down on Dave’s bed, watching him through half lidded eyes. The next time he looked back over, Karkat was asleep. Dave saved his work and slid in next to Karkat, looping an arm over him. Karkat murmured in his sleep and shuffled closer. Dave smiled and nosed his face into Karkat’s hair, shutting his eyes to let sleep wash over him.

 


	9. First Kiss (Davekat, ♥, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meteor, first kisses

The text on the screen, the all caps, the implied shrieking, controlling, veneer, and well; when you arrived you’d thought he’d be shorter. Karkat Vantas is instead two inches taller than you (you resent that, maybe a little), but you can’t really get a read on his build other than ‘swamped in sweater and shapeless pants’. You reassure yourself with the idea that you could probably still take him in a fight, years with Bro plus the godtier thing give you a distinct advantage. 

Which is why it’s so weird to be flat on your ass, with him on top of you, crowing success. It’s not like it was a serious fight - you’d been trying to change the movie on his dumb computer and he didn’t want you too so you were flailing hands at each other and then you’d shoved him off the couch, and he’d gotten tangled in your cape, and then you were both on the floor - and it’s not like you’ve fought anyone in the last year and a half (shit it’s been a year and a half), so you console yourself in the idea it’s probably a fluke. The last time you took a sword out of your strife specibus it was because Rose had managed to alchemize a log of polony and you both thought it would be funny to try and slice it with an inappropriately large blade. It hadn’t really worked but you’d both come out of the nutrition bl- _kitchen_ with plates full of hacked chunks of meat. (Was polony even really meat? You’d never figured it out.) That was nearly a month ago.

So. Karkat, on top of you. Winning. Dickhead, you think fondly, and you put your palm flat on his nose, pushing away as you sit up and he snorts, his hand slipping off the keyboard and interfering in his mission to turn the volume up to annoy you. “Dave!” he manages to yelp before losing his balance and falling backwards, cape still wrapped around his legs.

You bear over him, cackling in success, and he yanks on your shirt to pull you over again, making you hit the floor (admittedly, you mostly hit Karkat). You’re both laughing like hyenas, not that you ever understood that comparison hyenas don’t do shit all other than laze about in grass at the zoo, and then it dies down, this soft patter of laughter gently trailing off until you’re both just kind of laughing there, staring at each other. You can see his eyes flicking over your face, fuck this close you can see the piece of his breakfast still wedged in between his teeth and if you wanted to you could look straight up his nostrils.

It’s quiet now, unbearably so, both of you having stopped laughing, stopped moving, but neither of you willing to actually move away and back up onto the couch. Your eyebrow’s fall back below the rim of your shades, and your mouth settles back out of laughter. Karkat says “heh,” quietly, something in his face changes, tenses then relaxes, and then he reaches across and cradles the back of your head.

He shifts awkwardly and presses his lips to yours. They’re dry and warm, a little chapped, and you kiss back after the barest of moments because thinking is for chumps and squares and you are neither. You are however, suddenly hyperconscious of the last time you brushed your teeth. (22 hours, 34 minutes, 12 seconds, 13 seconds, 14 seconds…) He breaks away gently, and blinks at you for a few seconds, looking at you with an expression that’s almost solemn.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” you breath back in the same tone.

You both glance back up at the crabtop where the movie is still playing, then back at each, then down. One of you laughs again, then the other kisses him. You don’t remember who does what, but it’s a pretty good way to spend an afternoon.


	10. Master Class (Humanstuck, Davekat, ♥, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humanstucks! A scrap from one of my longer verse's called Three Day's Grace that isn't ready for posting yet

The guy who runs the local martial art’s class is Mr Meijer (Field Sergeant Meijer, the senior students call him), but to every class under the age of fifteen, and to everyone who’s known him for a few years, he’s Mr Mayor. Karkat had his first class with him at the tender age of six, and in the first half hour Mr Mayor wrote his name on the board and taught them how to sign the finger alphabet so that everyone could understand him. 

Ms Merediths, his teaching assistant, translates for him for the new classes and students, but after a while everyone gets used to the shapes of the letters, and usually they pick up a few ASL signs by the end of their first term. Everyone gets nicknames too; Karkat is solely referred to as “Mr Shouty!”, and much to everyone’s amusement, Dave gets stuck with “Stupid Boy!” within the first lesson.

(“Stupid Boy! Your stance is out again! Your brother teaches you bad habits I have a thing or two to say to him!”)

Mr Mayor is a a man of indeterminate elderliness, and everyone knows he’s a war veteran who doesn’t speak, though no one quite knows which war. In his first ever class the incoming senior students told a gaggle of them, Karkat and Dave included, that he was an immortal being who’d always been this old, and that he fought in World War One. Jade piped up and asked if he fought in the Boer War as well, and then she had to explain what that was in hurried tones because Old Man Harley takes his war stories seriously. Six year old Karkat had serious doubts about the war elephants with AK47s though; Old Man Harley is also a notorious liar.

Mr Mayor is wrinkled as hell, nearly seven feet tall, and brown as a nut, and he’s from the Netherlands, Ms Meredith explains one afternoon. He signs at them hurriedly afterwards “The Peregrine is correct! I miss mother Holland, though only this country treats cyclists with the respect they deserve!”. Ms Merediths is always The Peregrine to Mr Mayor, because apparently peregrines are the smartest and best kind of falcon.  During his classes it’s even odds as to whether he’s signing randomly about ridiculous war stories and the perils of the government, or about the wonders of true democracy and his scale recreation of Athens that’s kept in one of the side rooms. He lets the kids work on it after classes sometimes, especially if their parents are late picking them up, and Karkat and Dave have quite a few buildings lovingly put up by them.

If ancient Athens didn’t actually have a “hot DJ swag club”, or a training centre for merciless crab-armoured soldiers, The Mayor doesn’t seem to mind. By the time he’s fourteen and learnt a bit about the era, Karkat had long realised that ancient Athens probably didn’t have skate shops, or Starbucks, or courthouses with realistic seventeenth century gallows either, but it’s hard to care when he’s spent so much time in there pretending to think it was stupid while guarding his own creations with an eagle eye. Can Town (the wide “table” it sits on is chipboard held up by expired cans of food with questionable contents - the ones that still have labels are all in Dutch) is practically a local attraction, anyway.

They’re nineteen, and in the senior class by now, but he’s still Mr Mayor, and The Peregrine is sitting in the corner with a bottle of water, her wrist strapped, fixing her silver hijab with a collection of bobby pins the size of which Karkat hasn’t seen since he last tried to watch Feferi do her hair for a date. It’s the first time he’s seen her wheezed, and Mr Mayor had waved her over into a corner with some brusque signs telling her to rest up, and something about the eleven year olds being particularly rowdy today.

Dave shot to the head of the class when they were around fourteen and stayed there, and it took Karkat a year or so to stop being jealous of him, but now he watches with some humour as Mr Mayor guides him through something weird and complicated looking, then, while Dave is running through it at regular speed, Mr Mayor leans in, casual as can be, and puts him on the ground with a simple flip everyone learned in their second grade of the class. Dave lies there, stunned for a moment, while Mr Mayor laughs silently above him, then he starts laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling under the shades. “Still a stupid boy!” Mr Mayor signs, beaming at him, then bends to help him up, and Dave flips him onto the ground as well.

Everyone laughs then, pausing, and Mr Mayor claps exaggeratedly, grinning widely, before getting up and heading over to help someone else through an exchange of blows and blocks. Dave grins briefly before getting up and slouching over to Karkat, and they pair up for the last few rounds of the class.

It’s raining by the time class ends, and people are running to their cars with loud shouts and jackets over their heads. Neither of them drive, and Karkat and Dave trade disgusted looks.  The Peregrine comes over and makes a disgusted noise and pokes at the rain drops on the other side of the glass. “We’re still open for another couple of hours,” she informs them mildly, “no one will mind if you stay back until the weather clears a bit.”

“Thanks, PM,” Dave says, and she laughs, smacking his shoulder a bit. Habits you’ve had for thirteen, nearly fourteen years are hard to break, and neither of their teachers have ever minded the nicknames.

The next class is for adult beginners, and fifteen minutes in the rain shows no sign of letting up. Dave knocks their shoulders together and points at the door for Can Town. “Wanna see how Athens is shaping up lately?” he asks, and Karkat stands up even before he’s done nodding agreement - anything other than watching a forty five year old man incorrectly running through the paces of the first way to break a grip.

The room is a lot smaller than he usually remembers, and another sheet of chipboard has been added onto it to give the city more space. Someone has written “THIS IS SPARTA!” across the bottom of the new board in sprawling blue chalk, and Karkat snorts. Dave grabs the chalk cup and starts doodling a Spartan warrior next to the writing, and Karkat finds some coloured chalk and examines the road map. He eventually found the car chase everyone had been adding to for the last year or so and starts continuing it - the latest addition is a police car at the front with two stick figures wearing sunglasses and trilbies poking out the windows - and he starts drawing other police cars at the end.

When he looks up again it’s nearly half an hour later and Dave has dragged out one of the spare chipboard slabs from underneath and is standing over it with a suspiciously blank poker face. “Hey Karkat.”

“What?” he asks, eyeing Dave carefully, and when he walks around the table he sighs and looks skyward.

“I think that you should jump on my dick.”

It’s impossible to miss the undercurrent of laughter at the terrible visual pun in front of them, and Karkat keeps his face turned up at the ceiling. “Oh Father, have mercy on my soul because my boyfriend is actually nine years old-”

Dave laughs, wheezing, and jumps onto the chipboard, completing the hopscotch lay out in the pattern of a dick, which if it were to scale, would be hung as the proverbial horse. He lands on a few lines and stumbles off the end, still laughing, and beckons at Karkat. Karkat walks over it, ignoring Dave’s boos, but hops the last two squares.

Dave laughs and leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You’re an idiot.” Karkat tells him, his mouth twitching up slightly, and then there’s three small, distinct, sharp noises and they both glance up.

Three coins are in squares along the dick grid, and Mr Mayor salutes them from the other end before hopping onto it. He lands in each square in the centre firmly on one foot, and every time he reaches a square with a coin, he bends double to pick it up with his teeth before spitting it into his hand and hopping into the next square to land on the other foot. Dave and Karkat applaud dutifully when he reaches the end, and Mr Mayor takes a bow with a flourish.

“The rain has let up chaps!” he signs at them, before walking over and grabbing a jar of candy off a high shelf. “Better take some sustenance for the road!” He shakes it at them, an old mason jar with a hand written label in cramped, faded letters reading “URANIUM - RADIOACTIVE!”, and Dave and Karkat take one bright green hard boiled sweet each.

Mr Mayor shoos them out then, beaming at them, and the Peregrine waves goodbye, bemused. Karkat rolls the candy to the other side of his mouth, cheek bulging, and waves goodbye back, the door to the studio slamming shut behind them. Dave shudders and steals the jumper poking out of the top of Karkat’s bag, and they argue about realistic dick lengths until they have to go their separate ways to reach their homes.


	11. Too Many Cooks (Humanstuck, Davekat, ♥, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "DaveKat - Cooking together/arguing about dinner " Requested by tumblr user catnipcantrip who is wonderful!

“We could get take out,” Dave suggested, leaning back from the fridge to peer through his shades at Karkat, who was lying back on the couch. His shirt sleeves were pushed up past his elbows, the cut of the shirt hanging weirdly over his unbound the chest, the epitome of ‘I’m not leaving the house’ style.

“We’ve had take out every night for the last eight days, if I don’t eat a fucking vegetable in the next twelve hours we’ll be the stars of our friendship group by managing to be the first early adopters of the hot vintage trend of scurvy chic,” Karkat said in a bored tone, not looking up from his magazine. His sock clad foot dangled off the edge of the couch, about an inch off the floor, swinging back and forth slowly. What was even in the fridge? Oh yeah, half a block of mouldy cheese, a Tupperware container of month old rice and chicken, the faint smell of rotted egg from the one that had exploded last week, and a few slice of stale bread.

Dave let the door of the fridge swing shut and turned to toe open the door of the shitty cupboard that passed as their pantry. Two cans of beans, a liquefying potato in the back, a single serve sachet of cup of soup, and a near empty paper bag of flour that Karkat hadn’t looked in in two weeks out of the fear that there might be weevils. “…Take out could have vegetables,” Dave suggested after a moment, shutting the door to it again.

Karkat let the magazine flop down onto his chest and propped himself up onto his elbows to stare daggers through his damp fringe at the back of Dave’s head. “When you say take out, you mean pizza.” 

“Pizza’s a vegetable.”

“Pizza is not a vegetable you moron.”

“Are you denying the supreme court, Karkat? I didn’t know I was dating an anarchist, that could be a deal breaker, you know.” Dave grinned and walked across the room to lean over the arm of the couch and press a kiss to Karkat’s forehead. 

“Your face is a deal breaker,” Karkat grumbled, leaning up to kiss him. “I think there might be some frozen vegetables in the freezer; we could cook those and mix it with some cup of soup to boost it up?”

Dave nodded and went back over to open the freezer, pulling out the cheap plastic bag. “Uh, we may have a problem.”

Karkat sighed, loud and overblown, and dragged himself upright to go over and peer over Dave’s shoulder into the bag. It contained exactly two kernels of frozen corn. “What the fuck? This was half full last time I put it back!”

Dave went to put it back in the freezer, grinning guiltily. “Yeah, I didn’t want to eat all of it, so I put the left overs back…”

Karkat grabbed it out his hands and lobbed it at the bin. “You’re a disaster; you don’t refreeze this little amount! What the shit Dave?”

Dave nudged the door shut and shrugged. “I don’t know, I just did, I wasn’t thinking of that I was thinking of ‘but what if I want to eat these two pieces of corn right here’ and then I regret having thrown them out, and you know I’m not about living with regret.”

“Two pieces of corn,” Karkat said, his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Okay, I cave. I’ve got twenty five cent on me, how about you?”

Dave dug out his wallet and sighed. Karkat let his head thud against Dave’s shoulder and he picked it up. “I’ll go get some ramen, I guess.”


	12. Proposal (Post game, Davekat, ♥, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post game davekat proposal- dave proposes (anon request)

The sun was setting, and the water was pleasantly cool around Karkat’s calves. The pool was small, and as far as they could tell, clean water. No one had gotten sick from swimming or drinking from it anyway, and it was fresh water, so they used it largely as they wanted to. Someone had strung some lights along the trees around the edges, but it was just Dave and Karkat for the evening. 

Speaking of. 

Dave’s fingers touched the back of Karkat’s hand, and wrapped around it, squeezing lightly. Karkat looked up and gave him a small smile, squeezing back. It was weird, to be out in the open with him and affectionate, weird to be out in the open full stop, and the quiet was different. There wasn’t the faint hum of background machinery from the meteor, just the light breeze around them and the sounds of nature all of them had slowly gotten used to. All of them except for Jade and Jake at any rate, who hadn’t had any issue returning to the familiar noise. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dave asked, propping his chin on Karkat’s shoulder and kissing his temple, his shades resting on his head just above his hairline for once, a rare sight even now. “Lookin’ all thoughtful at that non killer sun and everything.”

“I was thinking about how fucking quiet it is, but I guess we can just strike that from the official record,” Karkat said smugly, leaning back into him, and Dave laughed quietly. 

“It’s nice here,” Dave offered after a moment, a brief hesitation like he’d meant to say something else. “Peaceful, and, you know, like a place you could build a home.”

“Yeah,” Karkat agreed, glancing up at him. They both still had nightmares, waking each other up during the times they managed to sleep, soaked in sweat and shivering at ghosts of memories. There wasn’t any sopor here that they’d managed to find in the years since they’d arrived, but he’d long gotten used to sleeping without it. “What aren’t you saying? Spit it out, Dave, we’ve known each other way too fucking long to pussy foot around any kind of bullshit.”

Dave hummed in silent agreement, kissing his cheek again. “Okay, but this is gonna sound really fucking dumb.”

“I’ve been with you for sweeps, I’m used to it,” Karkat said, smiling and turning his head to kiss Dave’s cheek in response. “And you’re used to it from me so just say it, you grub noodle.”

“Love you too, honey wriggler,” Dave said automatically. “I uh, there’s no real, human institutions left, and trolls didn’t exactly have an equivalent, but I uh. Okay, fuck it, the mother grubs starting to grow up a little, and we’re slowly figuring out the ecto controls, and we’re like, getting towards the reproductive age-ish, not that any of us are really paying attention to biological clocks or anything, but Rose has been broody as _fuck_ lately which I did not say, okay-”

“Are you asking me if I wanna raise a grub with you?” Karkat asked suspiciously. “Cause we’ve had this conversation half a dozen times, we don’t really need to have it again just yet, and you’ve dragged me out here with no one else for _something_ -”

“No, no that’s not what I’m trying to say,” Dave said impatiently. “It’s much stupider. I uh, fuck it, Karkat will you marry me?”

Karkat frowned and turned to face him, the fabric of their shirts shifting with the motion. “What? Like, as in, the human bondage thing?”

Dave coughed, studiously avoiding his gaze, though without the shades he still has trouble dragging the neutral expression back and Karkat’s definitely known him long enough to read the expression that plainly says ‘well fuck me’. “If we could avoid calling it a bondage thing, particularly around literally anyone else that would be _greatly fucking appreciated_ , but yeah. I mean, we don’t exactly have a church and that would be awkward on a world we are literally gods of anyway, but we could totally do like, a handfasting or something, Rose has so many thoughts on the topic, I barely escaped with my life, okay, and I know it sort of doesn’t really mean much to anyone but us, but I still kind of wanna, just, you know, stand there in front of everyone else and be kind of like, ‘see this dude, this magnificent guy right here, I’m gonna publicly fucking pledge my devotion because that’s how motherfucking badass we are, that’s how in love we are, you fuckers better square the fuck up and get on our level-”

“Yes,” Karkat blurted. “Yes, just shut the fuck up, okay? Yes I’ll, marry, or fast hand, or whatever the fuck you’re trying to say, okay?”

“Oh thank god,” Dave said, deflating a little and wrapping his other arm around Karkat’s front, clutching his opposite shoulder and hugging him tightly against Dave’s chest. “I have no idea what I was going to do if you weren’t interested, so awesome, thank you. Um, it’s sort of traditional to exchange rings, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do that, and I was kind of hoping you’d help me design something, uh.”

Karkat kissed him, turning into him and squeezing his hand gently again, the water rippling around their legs. “Dave. Love, yes, we can do that, you can show me your drawings, we can argue with Dirk about how to make them best, and we’ll have a kickass fucking love-bondage party, okay?”

Dave sniggered against his lips, mumbling “love-bondage”, and Karkat stepped on his foot, head-butting him in the nose lightly.


	13. Make up (Dave & Karkat, SFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davekat fanfiction where Dave dresses up as a troll to impress Karkat and Karkat catches him in the process of painting himself grey..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I had several hundred words of this then tumblr did it’s thing and it is GONE so here is my attempt to reconstruct which is upsetting because I quite liked what I had ;_; please forgive me anon. (Sort of pre-relationship-y)

Make up, Dave is convinced, is a form of sorcery known only to the eldritch-aligned. Terezi sure as fuck doesn’t use it, and neither does Vriska (no matter how cemented his mental image of her with raccoon eyes and a hot topic t shirt is) - so it’s just Kanaya and Rose, and the creepy clown dude. Rose is Rose, Kanaya’s a vampire, and creepy clown dude is totally… Spiritual, or something like that. Eldritch aligned. 

The grey body safe (probably) paint is swirling in the container, and he should probably, like, dab that on his wrist or some shit. (Or is that for hair dye? He’s never done it with his bleach, but uh, he could swear he read that somewhere one time.) He’ll be fine, besides, if he goes into anaphylactic shock and dies of an enormous rash all over his face, paradox space will probably bring him back just in time for Rose to share the incriminating polaroids. 

So. Applying the paint. Dave scrutinises the selection of weapons and implements he filched from Rose’s make up bag while she was passed out on the couch with a hard gaze. This was just like, liquid foundation right? And foundation went on with a brush. But, which brush? The big fan-y one, or the little one, the one that kind of looked like a dick, or the one that looked like a kids paintbrush? And didn’t some people use sponges? Or was that for eyeshadow - those drugstore kit things came with the tiny little paddles with the weird sponges on the end, right?

Shit. Maybe he should’ve stuck with the horns - or not. The puddles of orangey red paper mache which is unfortunately stuck all over the drain of the sink seems to be staring at him accusingly, and Dave hastily reassert’s his eyes to front and centre, pointed at the mirror in front of him. His roots are showing something fierce, and he pulls a face at himself before tugging his shades off and setting them next to his toothbrush, safely away from the grey danger zone. 

Crunch time. Dave grabs a large, pink, teardrop shaped sponge and stares at it uncertainly before squeezing some grey paint onto the wide end. Dubiously, he leans over the sink and peers into the mirror, dabbing it onto the bone of his cheek. It’s cold and comes away as a giant fucking dollop of paint, maybe he should have used the brush thing, but christ, this is so much more of an involved enterprise than he’d been anticipating. 

“What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, pulling his face back and trying to match the dollop on the other side of his face. It doesn’t leave as much paint behind, so he grimaces and starts trying to smear it out by dabbing the sponge over his face, but there’s not quite enough paint and he has to re-squeeze it, and has his nose always been this annoying to maneuvre? “What the _fuck_?” he repeats again. 

The door bangs open and Dave freezes, shit, this is worse than that time Rose caught him jerking it, why does he keep forgetting to lock _doors_? (Well, Bro never really paid attention to locks so why fucking bother, but _still_ ) “Dave, what the shitblistering hell are you doing, Rose said you’ve been in here for an _hour_ and you haven’t been talking to yourself half as much-”

Karkat pauses mid sentence, staring at him, and Dave can’t really blame him. “Oh shit, my bro, you’ve peeked behind the curtain, ignore the illusion, there is no hard work in Oz-”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Karkat interrupts ~~thank god~~ , looking bewildered, not that Dave can blame him. 

“…Irony,” Dave says eventually. “Only know it’s boned, so boned, dude, you walked in and bent it over the table, _boundaries_ , Karkat, this was going to be fucking _epic_ , and you fucked it senseless.”

“Please stop talking,” Karkat says, looking annoyed and tired, and that’s not quite what Dave was aiming for, damnit. Actually what was he aiming for? “And if you’re going to convert to juggalo-ism just tell me now so I can give a heads up to the sisters of all things scourge-y, or Kanaya’s chainsaw, and then get the hell out of dodge before righteous womanly fury comes down and smites you from existance before you can pop your first faygo bottle.”

“…Alas, the vents are calling,” Dave says eventually, and Karkat shoves him. “Nah man, fuck that, I was trying to set up for a joke, but you walked in before the punchline, so, uh.”

Karkat rolled his eyes, but he was smiling slightly, that little curve of his lips he did when he thought something was funny but totally wasn’t gonna admit it. “Yeah, you said. I’m not entirely sure what part of your leaking pan thought it was a good idea, and apparently I need to steer clear because it’s turned radioactive, but I’m sure it would have been the funniest thing ever, and you’ve officially impressed me with your dedication to the art of colossal asshattery.”

Okay, sure, it’s not exactly a win but Dave’ll take it.


End file.
